last word*
Bedazzed by
BILLIONS
I THOUGHT I WAS A REALLY COOL DUDE AND NOTHING COULD EMBARRASS ME, WRITES GREG ARDÉ, BUT THERE WAS THAT WORD illustration jeremy nell
I
came across a scintillating new word the other day and I can’t shake it. Actually, I spilt my coffee when it first leapt off the pages of a magazine. I was lounging at a swanky cafe at the time, pretending to belong to the jet set with not a care in the world but what to pack for my beach jaunt to the Bahamas. The word transformed me from Daddy Cool to Silly Fool. I turned scarlet, and snuck the magazine under a copy of one of Durban’s daily rags that now masquerades as a newspaper. The folly that filled the front page that day calmed me enough to regain my composure. I got my groovy Don Johnson demeanour back on and soon a gaggle of “gals” at a table nearby caught my eye. I was back in action. Naturally, I paid them no attention and read the silly newspaper report instead. It was about Durban’s new R62-billion inner-city plan to end grime, crime and homelessness and featured our acting mayor Fawzia Peer. Anyway, the R62-billion plan, I read, was a public-private project and the city naturally
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wanted businesses to invest and fix what politicians so often make a hash of. Reading Fawzia’s story made me think of Donald Trump and Dr Evil and how billions slip and slide off the tongues of politicians with graceless ease. Recently Trump said he turned down a $2-billion deal in Dubai. Quoted in an esteemed rag, Trump said the deal was with “a very, very, very amazing man — a great, great developer friend of mine, great guy ... I turned it down” – because he’s the president, you know.
The mere mention of billions obviously makes politicians and other wannabees feel better about themselves. It pumps up their flagging egos and fragile prestige, and is a feeling, I imagine, that originates near your loins and rises to a mighty crescendo somewhere. I once worked for a potbellied dwarf who fancied himself a bit of a Richard Branson, but who got his loot from the government pension fund, so I don’t know why he feels so grand about himself. Anyway, he loves to call himself a “billionaire”, which to me
w w w . t h e c r e s t o n l i n e . c o . z a
seems silly and a bit like the skit from the Austin Powers movie. You know the one … Dr Evil dangles his pinky in front of puckered lips and threatens to nuke the free world unless he’s paid a ransom of “one million dollars”? And then his sidekick (Robert Wagner) awkwardly reminds him that a million is a bit pathetic, so after a dramatic pause Dr Evil says, “OK, one hundred billion dollars”. Which reminds me of the Durban businessman who gets fawning journalists to describe him as a billionaire when often he struggles to pay his bills, poor bloke. Anyway, the point is that billions make people grander, bigger, better, more puffed up and important than they really are. Politicians love to bedazzle us with billions. If a speech doesn’t have a billion in it, is it really worth it? I mulled this over while I read the newspaper article and cast my cool, casual gaze towards the “gals”. It was a smooth, lazy, one-eyed, not too interested look. They fluttered excitedly and I pretended to look down at the paper, only (horror of horrors), I saw the bloody magazine article again with THAT WORD. It screamed out at me and once again I turned crimson and wished I could just disappear into my latte. The word is vajazzle, it’s like bedazzle only it involves adorning … oh my gosh, I’m just too shy to say. Google it – it involves crystals, glitter and other such decoration. And it’s also exactly what politicians do to make their very dour selves seem interesting. It’s so very embarrassing!
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